Birds in Newfoundland. 
* * * “Above in the light 
Of the starlit night, 
Swift birds of passage wing their flight.” 
\\ hat a marvelous instinct it is that as regu¬ 
larly as the recurrence of the seasons inspires 
the coming and going of the migratory birds! 
|| For him who has the ‘‘seeing eye” I can imagine 
no other occupation that will give so much pleas¬ 
ure for so little exertion. To watch the various 
arrivals, compare their dates, to find approxi- 
| tnately when they left last, and why their com¬ 
ing was not a week or month earlier or later, and 
i to think on the unerring instinct that guides 
them for hundreds of miles to the spot where 
] they at last decide “to pitch their tents” for the 
summer—all are subjects of wonderment to any- 
; one who takes the least interest in such matters. 
A couple of seasons ago a hunter told me that 
he shot, very early in March, on Grand Pond 
f Barrens, a couple of wild geese with fresh un- 
! digested corn in their maws. I made many in¬ 
quiries as to where it was likely that those geese 
; had had their last luncheon ere they started for 
ij Newfoundland, but failed to get a satisfactory 
answer. 1 he American Consul, upon inquiry as 
to a likely place for corn on the continent at 
that date, suggested that in some of the States 
in the corn belt, where corn had lain in the 
fields over winter, that it was probable these 
I birds took their last meal before starting on 
II their long journey North. Though I lay no 
| claim to systematic observation, the coming and 
| goh'o of the birds interest me very much each 
I season. 
Early in February, in crossing the fields on my 
! way to the city, my attention was attracted by a 
i large flock of snowbirds. They lived around 
| the snow-covered meadows, and the wonder to 
me was, how they managed to feed themselves 
: and survive the frosty snowy nights, but they 
survived and flitted around till the snow dis- 
] appeared. A man who professed to have some 
1 knowledge of these birds assured me that these 
! snowbirds are the same as those known as orto- 
1 Ians in the British Isles and that they make a 
I delicious article of food. 
Just as the high spots in the meadows began 
1 to appear through the shrinking snow in March. 
| several mornings I heard a “cheep-cheep” that 
| appeared to be familiar. At last I got near 
[ enough to locate them and found them to be 
I ringlarks. These were the very first spring birds 
1 saw this year. Of course I do not say for 
.'ertain that these were the first arrivals, because 
on the west coast of the island, and further in¬ 
i' an( l on the east coast where I reside, there maj 
ia ve been other arrivals before those noted by 
1 ne. 
Soon after the welcome robin redbreast put 
I n an appearance. These are sure harbingers of 
1 -pring and are always most welcome. An occas- 
onal one turns up first and then a day comes, 
>erhaps a week later, and the woods are full of 
I hem. 
Sometimes we have snow and frost after their 
arrival ar.d several seasons many of them suc¬ 
cumbed to the inclement conditions, and the 
wonder then was whether they were not led 
astray 1 y their instinct in being a little “too 
previous.” 
Just about the time the robins arrived, it was 
noted around here that many hundreds of crows 
put in an appearance. They remained near for 
a few days and then disappeared, leaving about 
a dozen or so which stay winter and summer. 
Whether the large body represented a special 
conclave of all the crows in the island, or 
whether they were Yankees on their way North, 
to blaze the way for the other Americans who 
were afterward to be bitten with the spring 
wanderlust and follow the same direction, would 
make an interesting question which I would like 
to be able to answer. 
If the robins make a mistake sometimes, the 
old country people say that there is one bird that 
never makes an error as to time. This is the 
snipe. When the snipe comes, spring indeed is 
with us. Asking an old countryman one evening 
about the prospects of the weather getting spring¬ 
like, he assured me that he never believed the 
spring was here till he heard “the goween,” as 
he called the snipe. The same idea is expressed 
by a local poetaster in the lines: 
“But listen! through the deep’ning dusk, that echoing 
eerie sound. 
Through the last glad rays of sunset, while the shadows 
steal around • 
.To his nest-mate in the sedges, comes a love-call from 
the sky, 
And I know the spring is with us, for I hear the 
goween’s cry.” 
One evening last spring I walked up a country 
lane, just at dusk, to listen to the arrivals to 
date. I heard the “echoing eerie sound” of the 
snipe and the song of a few robins. That even¬ 
ing week I went through again and the grove 
was vocal with the songs of robins, “tom-foxes”— 
a species of thrush—and many other birds which 
I could not locate. After the robins come, the 
next arrival is what is known locally as the 
tom-fox. This is a sweet singer. Then come 
rusty blackbirds, chickadees, field sparrows— 
distinct from the English sparrow—yellow-ham¬ 
mers, a species of linnet I think, swallows, and 
later several other kinds of small song birds. 
Some chickadees, a few robins and the English 
sparrows stay with us all the winter. How they 
survive the stormy nights is a mystery. 
Early in September it was observed that large 
flocks of swallows gathered in the eastern 
suburbs preparatory to winging their flight south¬ 
ward. Personally, I never saw so many swal¬ 
lows on this side of the island before. They 
are generally pretty plentiful on the west coast. 
About the second week of September the 
meadows were covered with chickadees. They 
took their flight, leaving a colony which live as 
best they can through the winter. I did not see 
the marshalling of the robins, but I know the 
great body of them has departed. They, too, 
have left representatives, as I occasionally see 
one round the garden. It is noticeable that there 
are not many dogberries this year, and the 
robins are fond of these. Last year in October 
a couple of trees were bending down with dog- 
berries. We intended cutting them for Christ¬ 
mas, but one day dozens of robins appeared and 
appropriated the fruit and we watched them 
clean up the berries frem two cr three trees. 
Next morning there was scarcely a berry left. 
It is said that the scarcity of dogberries de¬ 
notes a hard winter. Perhaps the robins possess 
inside information and are profiting by it to get 
out before the price of coals goes any higher. 
Last week, walking up the country, I heard 
both a robin and a tom-fox sing as gaily as if 
it were the mating season. I never remember 
to have heard them sing so late in the season. 
Though the weather holds fine; finer, in fact, 
than we have had for many years, yet the birds 
have left us. 
“I hear the beat of their pinions fleet, 
As from the land of snow and sleet 
They seek a southern lea.” 
W. J. Carroll. 
Rattlesnake Bite. 
Oak Ridge, Miss., Oct. 20 . —Editor Forest and 
Stream: Ihe Los Angeles Times not very long 
ago contained an account of the biting by a 
rattlesnake of John McCormick, of Grapeland, 
Cal. He believes that he saved his life by kill¬ 
ing the snake and cutting a gash through the 
two wounds made by the fangs and squeezing 
out as much blood and poison as possible. He 
then cut a piece of flesh out of the snake’s back 
and inserted it in the wound, using his handker¬ 
chief for a bandage and tying his leg above the 
knee to reduce the circulation. Dr. Sumner J. 
Quint was called from Los Angeles to attend 
the patient. When he arrived he found him 
suffering from only a slight poisoning. 
This case is authentic and is vouched for by 
Dr. Quint whose letter says McCormick told him 
that he had used this treatment on himself be¬ 
fore and in- several cases of snake bite on others. 
Dr. Quint says further: “When I arrived he 
was out of danger. I would not, however, de¬ 
pend on this form of treatment, but should ad¬ 
vise you to carry a rubber band to tie around 
the limb above the bite; namely, between the bite 
and the heart. For this purpose a common 
tourniquet is the best. It should be tied tight 
enough to stop the circulation completely. Then 
the wound should be opened quite deeply and 
a strong solution of permanganate of potassium 
applied on a piece of gauze or linen. One can 
have a solution made up. in any drug store. I 
should have a four-ounce bottle in the kit.” 
Possibly this may interest your readers and 
may be of value to someone who is so unfortu¬ 
nate as to be struck by a rattler. 
It is quite commonly believed that the rattle¬ 
snake gives warning, but too much dependence 
cannot be placed on this, as I killed one six foot 
rattlesnake last winter that was in coil and ready 
to strike and gave no warning. The same sea¬ 
son I also killed another that could have s* ^ck 
me, that gave no warning. I reached d r yn to 
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